


Bronze, Copper, and Gold

by bxmddream



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu Week, Atsumu Week 2020, Character Study, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Pro Volleyball Player Miya Atsumu, one-shots per chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:41:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25217941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bxmddream/pseuds/bxmddream
Summary: A compilation of my character studies on Atsumu
Relationships: Miya Atsumu - Relationship, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Kudos: 23





	1. Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> ; Atsumu and his fixation on flowers

_Atsumu has always loved flowers._

Loved them the first time he saw _peonies_ at his aunt's wedding, eyes shining bright taking in the delicateness of each petal, the vibrancy framed by emerald leaves, and the picture painted by a few stems arranged meticulously.

Loved them the time he saw _tulips_ on the table beside his grandfather's bed, contained beautifully in a glass jar, the yellow bouncing off of the water's reflection, painting the dull skin of his grandfather a warm shade of gold.

Loved them the time he saw _roses_ , a dozen of them tied with a string, clutched in the sweaty hands of his brother, their petals swaying in the breeze, fluttering and opening as though welcoming a new hand to accept their splendor and brave their thorns.

Loved them the time he saw _sunflowers_ on a trip at the hills of a countryside, the yellows and browns painting a magnificent view as the car drives past, their petals upturned seeking the warmth of the sun, and, gazing at the smile shining just as brightly even when viewed in the rearview mirror, much like him.

Loved them the time he saw _lilies_ , through tears, perched beautifully on top of a casket, their lush petals already turning a rotten shade of brown at the edges, a delicate reminder of the inevitability and finality of life, their vivacity almost seeming like a mockery to the shell underneath of what once contained the most vibrant of souls, lost to the sands of time.

Atsumu has _always_ loved flowers.

_Nothing_ could change that.


	2. On Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ; Atsumu and his on court musings

If someone were to hold a gun to Atsumu's head and make him recall the first time he'd ever set foot on a volleyball court, he'd be dead in an instant.

Many would think that as a professional volleyball player like him, every moment held on the court would be recorded and filed away in an extensive file holder in his brain. That may be the case for some, for Atsumu however, he learnt differently.

The mind maybe powerful but it can't remember every tiny detail that happens on the court, it can't file away and store the million sessions of serve-receives Atsumu has ever done, can't pinpoint the specific speed and direction of every set he's ever made.

Instead, it's his muscles that learn, through years and years of practice, how to contract and release depending on which serve he's going to make, how to tense up then relax and bear the weight of his body as he receives a particularly nasty spike, how to handle the ball in his fingertips for a third of a second with a precision and accuracy no memory in his mind will ever achieve.

On the court, his mind is nothing but an accessory, an analytical ally in the battle his muscles were honed to win.

And Atsumu is content with that. After all, who needs memories?


	3. Aliens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ; On the ontology of aliens

Aliens are shit.

They were the shit.

No, they weren't shit because of the air of mystery surrounding the ever-debated topic of their existence. They weren't shit because of the grotesqueness of which they are perceived and believed to possess. They weren't shit because of the countless of movies centered on them conquering parts of Earth and being blown to bits at the end.

No.

They were shit because of the notion that until now their existence still remain a mystery, when in fact the answer is staring at us in the face.

Atsumu always believed, the moment he first stared at his brother’s face and realized he's staring at his own, that if humans, flimsy little creatures that we are, can exist in a celestial body at the tails end of an insignificant galaxy, then surely other beings can as well.

Their existence is undeniable, humanity is proof of that. The question was then simply whether humans, as a species, will get to behold another, with a home far from our own.

Now as Atsumu lays on a cold surface, hands and feet strapped down, and a material he can't quite decipher covering his eyes, he guesses that question's been answered.


	4. Blanket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ; roughly, blanket

Atsumu wakes up to a ringing by his head, he groans and moves to turn off his alarm by his table. The ringing stops, and in the absence of the sound, he becomes aware of a banging inside his skull, likened, at this moment, to the vibrations that shook his apartment a month ago from the construction site in the adjacent building that he'd filed a complaint against.

He groans, burying his face in his pillow. He wraps himself in his navy-blue blanket and clutches his head in between his palms. Fingers tugging against his hair, pulling before massaging his scalp, easing just a little bit of the pain.

Fuck, this is such a bad time.

Lifting his head, he reaches for his phone and dials the number on top of his contacts. Pressing it to his ear, it rings twice before a voice resonates, the volume making him wince.

"Miya"

He clears his throat, "Hey, omi."

His voice comes out rasp, and it draws his attention to the dryness in his throat. Damn it.

" What the, what's with you? Why do you sound like a cheese grater?"

He releases a choked laugh, remembering the first time he realized, a few weeks after he became Sakusa's close confidant through Pocari sweats and late night trainings, that the guy had the tendency to make jokes despite him having, quite possibly, the worst humor Atsumu's ever seen (Ushijima is an exception, the guy had absolutely no humor whatsoever).

" 'm not feeling too well. Can 'ya tell coach 'm callin' in sick?"

"Sure, of course. Do you need anything? Medicine? Some soup? Wipes or tissues? I still have some time before training starts, I can bring them to you."

His cheeks flush and a cough escapes him. Grimacing, he rubs his throat, " Hmm, thanks omi-omi, but 'm good. Ya don't haf'ta come 'ere, can't have my wing spiker sick as well."

"Okay, alright. I'll call to check up on you at lunch, if I ever so much as hear you feeling worse, I'm coming over. Don't fight me."

He smiles, glad for this stubborn jerk he's befriended.

" Mkay, omi. Thanks."

He ends the call, taking a minute to breathe and collect himself, his breaths coming in hot waves, like a chain, interconnected, one after the other. He squeezes his phone once, twice, before tossing it at the table. He curls up into a ball under the covers. Wraps his blanket tighter against his body, tucks it underneath his chin. The only company he'd have. That is, until a certain bastard breaks down his door at 12 after a few dozen missed calls.


	5. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ; the noxious art of making a home

The first time Atsumu moved into his own apartment, he could count on one hand the number of utensils he owned. A spoon, fork and a pair of chopsticks, part of a set gifted to him by his brother as a house warming gift, a plate with a small red fox curled up languidly at the edge, and a mug, the color of freshly dug dirt, the inside already turning brown and adorned with cracks from the many times he's drank coffee from it. Five pieces of him, making a home in his kitchen.

The second time Atsumu moved into an apartment, he couldn't and wouldn't dare count, for the sake of his sanity, all the things in the kitchen. It was packed. Ranging from a dozen spoons, forks, and plates with varying sizes, to chopsticks with different designs, to other utensils, tools, and equipment he can never name. Nevertheless, he unpacks his five horcruxes, under the watchful and albeit mocking eye of the inhabitant of the kitchen, and sets them down, glad for the familiarity they bring, and makes a home for them in this new world.

The third time Atsumu moved into a new apartment. He counts in no hand the number of utensils he owns. His five possessions, bits and pieces of him in each one, all left in a world he can never return to, a home he has no right to come home to. There, lost in a sea of identical objects, the new owner probably not giving them even a thought, Atsumu feels the stretch of the six strings connecting him to the pieces he's left behind. A spoon, fork and a pair of chopsticks, part of a set gifted to him by his brother. A plate with a small faded red fox curled up languidly at the edge. A mug, the color of freshly dug dirt, the edges chipped, the inside already brown, and adorned with cracks from the many times he's drank coffee from it. And a love, so weary and yet still so full, scattered in disinfected surfaces and dirt-free corners, taking shelter in the chest and being of the occupant of the apartment, making a home for itself in a foreign and unwelcome territory, much like Atsumu.


	6. Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ; on the duality of celestial bodies

The moon shone brightly on the pavilion where Atsumu sat, staring at the koi fish swimming leisurely on the tiny pond at the edge of the garden. The orange and whites and reds and blacks catching moonlight trapped in the water, refracting and reflecting across the surface, painting the nearby bushes and rocks a sunlit yellow.

He wraps his arms around his knees and rests his chin atop them. Curled up, Atsumu looks smaller than he should be, and he feels smaller than he would normally feel.

Maybe it’s the near-ethereal setting in front of him that wakes up the ever-present urge to compact himself, tighter and tighter, until he is nothing but a speck, small and insignificant, where nothing he could do would disrupt the tranquility and almost reverent peace the moment held. He wants the world to be intangible, to not be tainted, affected, changed, by him specifically. Wants to be nothing but space and air, calm and at ease, creating no ripples in the water and the seas. Wants to look at the world through lenses and glass windows, just looking, safe on the other side, knowing whatever he does will hold no bearing on the clockworks of destiny. 

But alas, he is Atsumu. Professional volleyball player Miya Atsumu. He might as well be holding the moon in his hands, balancing a mighty irrevocable force at the tips of his fingers, the world depending on him. The vitality of the sea and the height and rigor of the waves depending on his ability to reach the sky, move the stars, and set the moon high to its rightful place.

Atsumu might want nothing but detachment from the world, want nothing than the weight on his shoulders off, want nothing than freedom and security and peace.

But he can never deny the golden dust which his hands are covered in, never deny the rocks stuck on the edges of his nails, never deny the craters of scars and calluses at the tips of his fingers, never deny the moonlight flowing through his veins, his lungs, his heart, pumping and pumping.

The moon has two faces.

One bathed in light, the other plunged in utter darkness. Two sides of the same coin, coexisting and contrasting.

Tonight, the moon shines brightly on the pavilion.

And Atsumu sits, dim and waning.


	7. Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ; on closings and endings

The door closes.

It swings, slowly, painfully.

And all Atsumu can do is watch it slam shut.

***

He stands, rooted to the carpet, the soft fur anchoring him, eyes trained on the door where moments ago his soulmate left through.

What. The. Hell. Just. Happened.

Confusion. Pain. Anger. A cacophony of emotions swirls inside Atsumu, flowing through his veins and knocking against the inside of his skin, begging to be let out.

One second.

His heart beats faster, pumping and pumping, rapidly.

Two seconds.

His fists clench involuntarily at his sides, or maybe it was a conscious decision, he can't quite tell anymore.

Three seconds and he's drowning in unadulterated rage, pain tinging the surface.

His steps reverberate against the floor as he stomps towards the door, wrenching it open and slamming it shut, not bothering to lock it, the neighbors could take whatever they want, to hell with them.

Anger clouding his vision he damn near stumbles outside their apartment. His eyes search for a familiar tuft of black curls, and finds it across the road, walking, a block away. He runs and shouts.

"OMI!"

He crosses the road, perhaps jaywalking, but he doesn't notice. Sakusa continues walking, unbothered like he didn't just hear Atsumu shout his name, but Atsumu knows better.

They continue walking, Atsumu behind him, unable to bypass the other pedestrians walking the other way.

"So that's it? You're just gonna run away?"

Atsumu tries once again to walk in front of Sakusa, but an ongoing construction blocks his path, and he mumbles curses under his breath in frustration.

"What the hell Omi, stop walking please." He pleads.

"Go away Atsumu, just leave me alone."

Sakusa's voice comes soft and tired and low, overlaid by the noises in the bustling street, and Atsumu wants to tear his hair out, make the world stop and still and shut up, until it’s just him and his Omi-omi.

FUCK.

"Like hell I will. Why would you do that?"

They reach the end of the street and Atsumu's relieved, now Sakusa has nowhere to go, he thinks, until the pedestrian light turns green.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Was it all a joke to you?"

He shouts, following after Sakusa, the other already on the road while he struggles against oncoming pedestrians, stuck in an onslaught of foot traffic.

"Cause bull fucking shit, I loved you! I love— stop running away damn it!"

He screams, barely escaping the wave of people trying to drown him and his pleas out. He runs, stumbles towards Sakusa, looks at the other who's turning around.

Finally, he thinks, hear me out Omi please, hear me out.

" You don't unde—"

One second.

The world finally stops.

Two seconds.

It stills.

Three seconds.

It shuts up.

"Omi?"

"OMI!"

***

Atsumu stands, rooted to the floor, the hard pavement anchoring him, eyes trained on the door where moments ago his soulmate was carried through.

And all he can do is watch it slam shut.

Watch it swing, slowly, painfully.

Until the door closes, ringing with finality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap. if you got this far, thank you so much for reading, i appreciate it! Fly high!
> 
> ~originally published separately July 12, 2020, compiled October 11, 2020


End file.
